


plus one

by kirinokisu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, does the happiness Shiro deserves count as a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 03:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirinokisu/pseuds/kirinokisu
Summary: Shiro pines. Badly and obviously. The Holt family deals with it like they always have: like Shiro is one of them.





	plus one

**Author's Note:**

> With huuuuge thanks to [Adriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya) for not only letting me whine and cry but also single-handedly saving this fic from being set on fire. Ilu.

Being back on Earth is, in some way, a comfort. There is the expected, of course, like the food and the language and the beloved Garrison grounds that he used to know like the back of his now alien hand. The rows of old memorabilia on his new shelves. The giant pile of superhero comics in the cardboard box under the bed.

But there’s also comfort in the routine, in being grounded by something that is ingrained deep in his bone marrow. Here, on Earth, standing where he always wanted to stand, supported by the people he would trust with his life… Shiro feels a purpose that is a lot more concrete than the grand _let’s save the universe_.

Sure, he has always wanted to be a hero—not out loud, and never to anyone else, but somewhere deep inside, along with other childhood dreams, most of which crashed and burned when he’d been diagnosed. 

Because usually childhood dreams are just that—dreams.

But the bridge of the mighty Atlas, despite the magic powering its engines, is real. As is the mission ahead. It’s hard not to feel humbled, and proud.

That same purpose, that _realness_ is what allows Shiro to compartmentalise in a familiar way that has made survival possible, to prioritise things even when few would agree with it.

“Shiro?” He realises he’s been spacing out when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder. “You okay?”

It’s involuntary, how his mouth stretches into a smile when Keith’s looking at him like that, all softness and concern, and Shiro's chest squeezes tight to keep something terribly warm inside, afraid of losing it.

Keith’s visibly tired face twists into a frown, and somehow still manages to look impossibly pretty. “You sure you don’t want to rest?” He sneaks a look at the clock on the wall—they’ve been here for hours, looking through flight formations and patterns and training regimes. “We can continue tomorrow.”

Shiro can’t help the yawn; he knows Keith won’t judge.

Indeed, he snorts. “All right, old man. It’s bedtime o’clock.”

“Hey!” Shiro laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not that much older than you now, even if I look ancient.”

“It’s the way you talk.”

“That, and the hair.”

“And the uniform.”

“Yours looks exactly the same.”

The words are a mistake, because they bring his attention to the item of clothing in question—it fits Keith perfectly, all neat lines and undeniable air of authority. But also something very Keith, like the half-unbuttoned collar and the inky-black bangs that are messy from hands running through them one too many times.

Shiro has to swallow.

He’s saved from any future embarrassment when a flash of blue announces Kosmo, his wet nose pressing into Shiro’s palm in a greeting right after. Another fleeting nuzzle, and he trots happily to Keith.

It’s a common occurrence now, everyone on the ship used to the wolf's presence. Where Keith goes, Kosmo goes. Not that Keith has accepted the name yet. But even Iverson is soft when it comes to the wolf. Shiro has seen his supposedly secret stash of dog snacks hidden under a pile of documents.

Keith crouches down, buries his face in the wolf’s fur. Kosmo reciprocates by licking a stripe up Keith’s cheek, with a sound that makes Keith laugh.

Shiro burns the scene into his memory.

He’s seen Keith happy before. Seen him laugh, and smile, and tilt his face towards the sun as if trying to breathe joy straight into his lungs. It had always made Shiro feel warm, always made him want to laugh, as free as he ever felt.

But lately it’s become a different kind of feeling.

Lately, Shiro wants to drink it right from Keith’s lips, capture it between the two of them. Hold it close for the rest of his life.

And it came to him so slowly, so gradually— _so naturally_ —that he missed it completely. Until he found himself right here, throat dry and heart thumping at the sight of his best friend smiling. Wanting so badly to be the reason for that smile. To share it, pressed together skin to skin.

He knows he needs to look away, if he doesn’t want to make it even more obvious.

He can’t.

He’s a goner.

 

-

 

“You’re a goner.” Matt tells him at breakfast, spearing a soy sausage with a fork and waving it in Shiro’s face. He’s always had his dramatic moments, apparently untouched even by years in space.

“Thank you, Matt. For your wonderful, unasked for insight.”

“Shiro, my friend. You _swooned_.”

 _I did not,_ Shiro wants to say. Then remembers the image of Keith with his too-long hair gathered in a ponytail. He’d just come from a morning run, face flushed and sweaty. Tight clothes clinging to his body—broader now, bigger.

The burn of the tea when Shiro has to take a hasty sip seems oddly fitting.

“Do you think he saw?”

Matt snorts. "You walked into a door that wasn't even glass." He bites into the sausage and munches on it loudly. Excruciating slowly. Knowing very well that Shiro is waiting. "Unfortunately, if there is one person even more blind than you are—and yes, that is possible—that's Keith. So no, I don't think he saw." He smirks around another bite. "Everyone else did though."

Shiro groans but resists the urge to bury his face in the shiny surface of the mess hall table. There are images to be preserved. "I don't know what to do."

Matt remains unsympathetic. "Well, for starters, you could tell him."

"That's the one thing I can't do."

"And why not?" Matt puts up a palm when Shiro opens his mouth to make an excuse even he knows will be half-assed at best. "Seriously, Shiro, why not?"

"Because."

And maybe years in space have changed Matt more than just in looks. "Because what? Because there's still a war to be won? We both know that's all the more reason to tell him that you—"

" _Because it’s Keith_." 

Matt raises an eyebrow.

Shiro doesn't know how to adequately explain it any other way, but he tries. "He's—Matt, you can't even begin to imagine everything he's done for me. How far he went, time and time again. How he saved me."

_As many times as it took._

"Then maybe you should tell him that too."

Shiro only wishes he knew how. Short of walking up to Keith and telling him that he's everything, Shiro's got nothing. 

To shake off the heaviness that's fallen over their end of the table, he says, "Speaking of talking, what have you been up to? I haven't seen you in any of the meetings with the rest of the rebel forces." More and more ships now fly to and from Earth every day, people from across the universe joining the coalition forces. 

Matt shrugs easily, accepting the change of topic for what it is. "Oh, you know, here and there, taking apart sweet, sweet galra tech left behind by Sendak's fleet, turning it into something even cooler. I've decided to leave the life of fame and TV appearances to you and Pidge. Apparently, my family has become quite notorious." He sounds incredibly pleased by the fact.

Shiro can relate. "Your family saved this planet."

"Always knew my mom was a superhero. Who really, really wants to have you over for dinner. Preferably soon."

The pang of guilt is sharp. It's been weeks, months now since the battle—since everything, really—and with so much to do, Shiro hasn't had a chance to exchange more than a few words with anyone outside Atlas crew. 

But Colleen isn't just anyone.

And isn't that a glaring proof that despite everything that's happened, he's still Shiro—still terrible at everything he was terrible at before.

"Relax," Matt reassures around a mouthful of rice. "She _knows_ you, Shiro. We all do. This Saturday work for you? Around seven?"

Shiro nods resolutely. "I'll make it happen." And he will. Just as he will find flowers even in this rebuilding world—not a bouquet, but one of those pretty potted ones that Colleen used to have everywhere around the house.

He's just about to go back to his breakfast, somehow forgotten amidst the talking and now unappealingly cold, when Matt laughs at something behind him. "The leader of Voltron, looking as grumpy as a wet kitten! Did Lance trick you into drinking decaf again?"

"Fuck off," Keith mutters, sliding onto the chair next to Shiro. He smells like minty shampoo and fresh desert air. And when he reaches for the water bottle on his tray, his thigh brushes against Shiro's under the table.

Shiro pretends he doesn't notice. The look on Keith's face provides the best distraction. "Rough morning?" Grumpy is one word to describe it. 

Cute is another.

Keith's glare at the world in general intensifies. "Flight drills for the next four hours."

The smile is hard to contain, but Shiro manages. Somewhat. There's something about this—about the normalcy, about the routine, about seeing Keith once again enlisted and excelling—that makes everything surreal and true at the same time. "They can't be that boring when you're leading."

"Not the paladins, Shiro. _The cadets._ "

Shiro pauses. Grin finally breaking through. "They're making you teach?"

"Unfortunately." Keith huffs the words out like the position is nothing more than an annoyance. But Shiro knows betters—Shiro knows _Keith_.

He throws an arm around Keith's slumped shoulders and has to fight the irresistible urge to plant a kiss on his temple. "You're going to do great. I always knew you would."

Predictably, Keith blushes, the hand holding the water bottle suspended in the air. His neck is as red as the jacket he used to wear. He's never been good at receiving compliments. It's adorable, really.

And just a little sad.

Shiro vows to shower him with more and more of those. Slowly, gradually. Until Keith starts to believe him.

For now, the tiny upturn of his lips is treasure enough.

Across from them, Matt snickers loudly. Mouthing something that looks suspiciously like the word _goner_. 

Were they the same mental age, Shiro would smack him on the head and maybe kick him in the shins for good measure.

But he chooses to blatantly ignore the menace instead, and tightens his one-armed hold on Keith. Who makes no move to break away, oblivious to Matt's taunts. And maybe it's just Shiro's imagination, but it feels like he leans just a little closer too. His perpetual warmth seeping into Shiro even through the thick layers of their brand-new uniforms.

 _Yes,_ he thinks, _all of this is more than enough._

 

-

 

Colleen Holt has the kind of smile that can melt not only hearts but also icebergs. Shiro has thought so from the very first time he met her, all those years ago, when an awkwardly gangly teenage Matt had dragged an equally gangly and teenage him to dinner at the Holt house—the very same one still, unchanged during all these years.

Just like Colleen, who opens her welcoming arms to greet him with a hug the moment he steps over the threshold. "Shiro!"

It feels like a homecoming. "Colleen."

She pulls back a little, to inspect him with a loving, caring eye. Then smiles a little tearily, hugs him a little tighter. "I still can't quite get over how much you've grown. First Katie, then you. And now Matt too! Did you know he's got himself a girlfriend? Matt? _Our_ Matt?"

Shiro laughs. "Unbelievable, isn't it?"

Colleen shakes her head, fond and proud. "I'd say!" She accepts the flowers with a happy, pleased smile. Plants a kiss on his cheek as a thank you, and pats the dry skin of it after, displeased by the hollow angles even Shiro himself has noted in the mirror while shaving this morning. "Now come. You look like you need some food in you. Something that isn't standard Garrison diet. And maybe some rest."

Dutifully, he follows.

He always will, he thinks. Because Colleen, to him, is so many things he's never known until she simply took him in, without any doubt or reason, and made him a part of her wonderful family. Showed him what's it like to have one. It still humbles him sometimes.

Sam is sitting in the kitchen, where a delicious smell of roast and rosemary is permeating the air. He has a tablet in his hand, and his ancient glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose. 

It's a familiar sight, one that fills Shiro with so much tenderness. They look happy, Sam and Colleen. Whole. As they always have, as they always should.

"Ah, Shiro!" Sam greets, raising his head from whatever article he's been reading. "Glad to see you looking a little less tired. Those eyebags of yours were really starting to worry me."

Shiro shakes his hand, wincing in apology. "It's been a little hectic."

“Tell me about it! Down in the labs, there’s still so much to explore, so much to build, to prepare. And with more of our allies arriving every day, there’s more and more knowledge to be shared.”

With Sam being easily if unofficially one of the most important people in the Garrison, working primarily on the Atlas, Shiro definitely sees him more often than any other Holt family member. But even so, they rarely get to actually talk, both of them pulled in too many directions by too many people.

So it's nice to just catch up with him, to listen to his excitement over everything that's been done to rebuild the city, about the improvements they're making to the ship and the lions. With Colleen providing lively commentary as she cuts the roasted chicken while Sam and Shiro set the table. She's been personally leading many of the restoration projects.

Once everyone is seated though, all talk of work ceases—Colleen’s strictest rule in the house.

Instead, they listen to Pidge describe her latest idea. Now that her family is safe by her side, she's been bursting with those. Today it's something about a video game, and some dare from Lance to make it even cooler. Matt joins in, the two of them gesticulating wildly. Making Sam's eyes burn bright with pride and interest. Colleen laughs, content, and shares a telling smile with Shiro: the two of them could never quite keep up with the brainiacs.

"So, Shiro," she says, chin cupped in one hand, a glass of wine in another. It's an alien variety, brought by an Olkarian delegation as a gift. It tastes tangy and sweet, strange in a good way. "When are we going to meet Keith?"

The question is so unexpected, it takes Shiro a moment to process. To notice the rest of the table go suspiciously— _obviously_ —quiet. All attention suddenly on Shiro. "Keith?" he swallows.

"I heard he's changed quite a bit. Grew up in more ways than one." The smile on Colleen's face is far, far too knowing.

Shiro shoots Matt a betrayed look, knowing just where Colleen has heard that. It goes ignored. “He's…" he fumbles. "It's a long story?"

"He used to be so small," Sam reminisces. Loose-limbed from the wine and the food, he's leaning back in his chair, one arm thrown over the back of Colleen's. "Trailing after Shiro like a lost wolf cub. Now he's..."

"Not so small?" Matt supplies, snickering. Pidge's undisguised amusement beside him, at least, is silent. "Broad shouldered? _Beefy_?"

Colleen hums. "Some say he's become quite pretty, too. Practically swoon-worthy."

They're all still looking at him. Waiting. _Knowing._

"Ah..." It's incredible, really, that even on the late side of twenties, he can still be reduced to a blustering disaster when talking about a crush.

_A crush. Right._

The word alone makes the blood rush to his cheeks, inadequate as it may be. He doesn't think Keith has ever been just a crush. From best friend and trusted comrade, he went straight to being Shiro’s universe. That's what makes it so hard.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Pretty enough to leave Shiro speechless, apparently.”

“That’s not—“ Except it is. Anyone who’s ever seen Keith would know that. The pinkish floral pattern on Shiro's empty plate suddenly looks very interesting. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s actually not,” Matt says. “Apparently, Keith left, and then came back older and hotter than ever before. Turns out Shiro's poker face goes only that far.” His sigh is wistful, downright dreamy. “Oh, the stories I could tell you. The _embarrassment_.”

“The amount of bleach I had to pour into my eyes this past year,” Pidge echoes.

It feels like a betrayal when even Sam leans forward with interest.

“There, there. Stop embarrassing the boy,” Colleen shushes them before the ground has a chance to even consider swallowing Shiro. She takes his hand in hers. “Matt, as you know, is finally bringing his girlfriend over next week." And goes right for the kill. "You should invite Keith. Let him meet his future in-laws too.”

Shiro chokes on the wine he so hastily tried to swallow.

 

-

 

As per tradition, they take their tea outside, under a blanket of stars. From the comfort of the old porch furniture, the cold ocean of sand appears endless. And reminds Shiro of days spent on the bridge of the castleship, when the universe felt vaster than ever before.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Sam asks, voice wondrous. It's just the two of them, Colleen having commandeered Matt and Pidge into helping her with dessert. Shiro's offers to help, as always, were declined loudly and successfully. Colleen had even pinched his cheeks and told him to sit down like a good boy, ignoring Matt's loud protests that he was a good but tired boy too. "Who would have thought that the first ever mission as far as Kerberos would lead us to," Sam pauses. Laughs a little, shaking his head. "I don't think I have a word for _this_."

"You mean extraterrestrial life, advanced alien technology and oh, an intergalactic war that has put Earth at its center?"

"I see your sense of humour has not changed one bit."

"Have to keep at least some part of myself intact." It comes out just a little bitter, but Shiro forgives himself the tiny slip. It's a beautiful evening, not meant to be ruined by his usual self-ruminations.

Sam looks at the sky, face unreadable. Reminding Shiro that he doesn't know what kind of horrors Sam had seen outside the arena, in whatever Galra labs he'd been imprisoned. "However long and hard the road, however big the price paid, we did make it. And came out stronger for it."

He always understood. Even before Kerberos. When he fought for Shiro the hardest. 

Just like now, when he places a comforting hand on Shiro's shoulder, the glow of the prosthetic illuminating his sad but proud eyes. "I'm sorry about Adam. Sorry that he didn't get to see the the world we're rebuilding."

"Me too," Shiro says on an exhale. Death, he learned, dealt the kind of wounds that made every other scar, no matter how old, ache in a dull throb. "Up there, after… after everything, I didn't even think about him. Not even once. And I don't know what that makes me."

"A person who had a universe to save, I imagine. A human being."

Shiro doesn't know what he's done to deserve this family.

"Everything was said and done. Everything was _over_. I had no regrets. I still don't. But..." Sam squeezes his shoulder, and Shiro can't imagine how hard it must've been to leave his wife and daughter behind. To then get captured without any hope of seeing them ever again. "When we were finally going back to Earth, selfishly, I couldn't help thinking that I wanted Adam to see that I didn't choose _nothing_ over him. That this was my dream, and that it had been worth it."

"He would've been happy for you."

"I know," Shiro whispers. Because he does know. Adam was good like that. "I hope he was happy for himself too." That he, too, had no regrets. That just like Shiro, he got past the hurt and moved on. With someone who made him smile and stayed by his side when it mattered. Someone who was everything Shiro couldn't be for him.

Sam gives his shoulder one last encouraging pat, and steps back. "Collen wasn't joking, you know. About Keith." He's kind enough not to comment on Shiro's sputtering at any mention of _that_. "He’s a good boy. Worthy of you. You should absolutely bring him over sometime, to meet the family. When you're both ready to."

Because of course they all have seen through him. It's a wonder Keith hasn't.

Or maybe he has and is simply too kind to—

_Not tonight._

He's not going to think about that possibility tonight. 

Not when the smell of Colleen's famous pecan pie wafts through the open patio doorway, to the sound of Matt and Pidge bickering over the first slice. 

_So out of season_ , Shiro thinks, endeared. But always his personal favourite.

 

-

 

A few days later, bright and early and before anyone can intercept him, Shiro meets Keith in an old familiar hangar where they used to park their hoverbikes, an eternity ago. The wave of nostalgia is knee-buckling, and one look at Keith tells Shiro he's not the only one feeling it—there's a soft kind of sadness on Keith's face, and candid happiness that Shiro recognises from days before Kerberos, before the lions.

There are no hoverbikes for them to ride now, even if the desert is no longer dangerous. Pieces of broken alien tech left behind from the invasion litter the hangar floor, along with old machinery and the few modified jeeps that survived the final battle. Wordlessly, they choose the closest one and Shiro takes the wheel because some things don't change, and Keith's determination to follow Shiro is one of them.

"Where to?" he asks, but not like it matters. Shiro gets the feeling.

Neither of them has had the chance to explore yet, not even after weeks of being back on Earth. There's just been so much work to be done, so many meetings and delegations. The Atlas has to be studied, her connection to Shiro analysed. They still don't quite know whether that bond is similar to that of a lion and a paladin, but the engineers led by Sam are making a lot of progress in learning how to operate her. It helps that she listens, as if she too is slowly learning Shiro and the rest of the crew.

And Shiro does like his work. Loves it, despite the hardships and many, many hands he has to shake, the politics that are as necessary as they are exhausting. He's good at it, too, and proud to be doing it. Regardless of the admiral stripes on his shoulders.

But it does leave him with very little time for anything else. Including Keith.

It was Shiro's idea, to take a morning off and just escape. A completely whimsical one, born late at night as they once again found themselves hunched over reports and formation patterns. He'd raised his head to work out the knots in his neck, and saw Keith curled on his chair, knees raised to his chin, pen tapping absentmindedly against the paper. He had such a look of concentration on his beautiful face, such focus. And Shiro was struck by the vision of a leader he'd always known Keith would one day become, by the idea that he'd somehow missed it. Like he'd blinked, and there Keith was, changed yet still the same.

"Hey, Keith?" he whispered. "Want to check out the city tomorrow? With me, I mean."

The way Keith's eyes had lit up was worth any potential guilt of having to cancel a few things. Last dregs of it evaporated completely when Shiro sneaks a glance at Keith sprawled on the passenger seat, unruly hair blowing in the wind from open windows.

It didn't even occur to Shiro to invite everyone else, he realises as they speed down the dusty road towards the city that's being slowly, steadily rebuilt. As much as he loves the paladins, considers them a family of sorts, he's missed this. Missed him and Keith.

"What is it?" he asks when he feels Keith's gaze on him. Neither of them has ever been particularly subtle. It's both a blessing and a curse.

"Just…" Keith smiles, and it's a tiny thing. Precious. "You look lighter. Happier. I'm glad."

Shiro doesn't quite know what to say to that. Even if he somewhat understands where Keith is coming from.

It's not that he was unhappy before. It's not even that something has changed monumentally.

He's still Shiro, still trying his best to do what he can. He may not have his sickness anymore, or even his body, but he's instead learning to live with the things that he's done, and the things that have been done to him. The support he receives not just from the paladins but from everyone in the Garrison means more than he could ever express.

He has his friends, and his family. He _is_ happy.

Then, there's Keith.

That's, perhaps, the most amazing thing of all. That after everything, Shiro still has him. It's still a wonder. A gift.

Shiro's memories might be an amalgam of words and emotions, but he _remembers_. He knows that they'll have to talk about it.

Eventually.

But not today.

The city looms vibrant before them, aliens and humans alike making it a home. There's noise, laughter. The market is just about to open, but the stall owners are already bustling with excitement for a new day. Farther ahead, construction workers are slowly clearing out the last of the debris that the lions couldn't get to due to their bulk.

Shiro stops the engine, but makes no move to get out of the car. He turns to Keith. "And are you?" It earns him a puzzled look. "Happy. Are you happy, Keith?"

Keith startles. Then takes a moment to think about it, because he knows what the answers means to Shiro.

And when he comes to the conclusion, he's the one most surprised by it. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

Like it's a revelation to him too.

Something simultaneously breaks and heals in Shiro's chest.

"Then let's go see what this new world looks like."

 

-

 

They start at the market, where the crowd is already gathering. Wandering mindlessly through stall after stall, with no hurry to be anywhere but here. Without their uniforms, they're a little harder to recognise and only a few people stop them for thank-yous and autographs. Keith's face twists funnily every time it happens.

It's the kids who manage to get more than polite confusion out of him. For them, he crouches down to their eye level, no doubt unaware that he's smiling timidly, and lets them pet Kosmo who's all too happy to indulge, preening under the attention.

Shiro feels like he could die.

It's a little unfair, he thinks, how devastating Keith can be. How beautiful when he's feeling sure and at peace, content with himself and the world around him. How it makes Shiro breathless, heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

And how Keith doesn't know.

He's standing there, fingers still sticky from the chocolate ice-cream they shared, completely oblivious to how much Shiro wants to kiss him. Right there, amidst the market place crowd, where everyone could see and no one would actually matter.

Matt said it could be easy, if Shiro would only dare to take that chance. Colleen told him June weddings are overrated but that she'll accept it if it's him.

Shiro thinks he's way in over his head.

Giggling, the kids bounce off to the water fountain in the middle of the square, where the rest of their friends are already splashing. Kosmo bids them goodbye with a happy yip and a wag of his tail.

They buy sandwiches from Sal's, on a frequent recommendation from Hunk, and eat them on a hill overlooking the city, just a little off the road. Keith convinces Shiro to eat his pickles, with the most powerful of sad puppy eyes, and steals Shiro's tomatoes in return. The juice from some Galra fruit leaves a cherry-red trail at the corner of his mouth, and it's so hard for Shiro not to reach and wipe it, either with his fingers or his tongue.

But he resists.

Morning bleeds softly into afternoon, warm sunshine spilling on the bright tented roofs. It's heady and molasses-slow and Shiro doesn't want this moment to end.

He allows himself to dream what it would be like to have this every day, for the rest of his life.

A future, for the two of them.

The kind worth fighting for.

 

-

 

"So, how was your date with Keith?" Standing in the doorway of Shiro's new office, Matt looks exceptionally smug. Like he just won a bet, probably on Shiro's non-existent love life. Shiro wouldn't put it past him.

"It wasn't like that," he says.

"Did you at least buy him flowers? Because if you haven't, mom might have to have a chat with you. She sure did with me."

The door whooshes close behind Matt as he steps inside the room. He's dressed casually, in an ancient Monsters and Mana t-shirt that used to be two sizes too big and once favourite but now threadbare jeans. Shiro pauses typing for a second, to risk a glance at the softly ticking clock on the wall.

_Shit._

"Yeah, you are almost late," Matt says sympathetically. "But luckily you have me and I have come to fetch you."

What Shiro needs to say is that he still has a few reports to go over, then an MFE proposal Iverson has personally asked him to look at. But it is Saturday night, which means movie or game night with the paladins. A tradition started by Coran under the guise of a team building exercise, but really just everyone missing each other now that it isn't just the seven of them, sharing the same tight living space. Who would have thought they would miss those days of bickering over showers and cleaning duties.

With far too little regret, he closes the Blades of Marmora report on the progress of tracking down the missing Altean colony on his tablet, and gets up from his chair. His shoulders protest in pain, but Shiro's getting used to this, to forgetting sometimes to take breaks and get up from his desk, stretch this body that still sometimes feels foreign.

_As long as it's healthy and not breaking down on me._

"Maybe you should ask Keith to help you with those," Matt quips, never one to miss details. "A little birdie told me his hands are quite strong. Just yesterday he took on three Blade members and won."

Shiro saw. He'd been walking past the training hall, deep in conversation with Pidge, when they noticed the small gathering outside its wide-open doors. He made the mistake of coming closer for a better look.

Because there had been Keith, fast as lightning, moving between his opponents with the kind of power and flexibility that made throats go dry. He had no Kosmo and no bayard, while the Galra warriors had no blades. Only their bare hands. And the protective Blade of Marmora suits.

_The suit._

The one that had been the bane of Shiro's existence since the day Keith had first worn it. Back then, it made him look so much smaller somehow. Like he was this vicious little thing that could fit between Shiro's spread hands, and not break. Not even under Shiro's bulk. The thought of it used to haunt Shiro day and night, made worse by the memories that weren't his.

It was even worse now.

Because now the fabric clung tight to every defined muscle of Keith's bulked body, accentuating how lithe and deadly he was. How powerful. And still so much smaller than Shiro.

He couldn't stay. 

Pidge had only patted him silently on the back.

And from the shit-eating grin on Matt's face, had later told him all about it in great detail.

"Not a word," Shiro warns.

"Because there's nothing I could say that you don't already know?"

"Or that you haven't told me already." He walks to the row of cabinets at the opposite wall, plucks a shirt from one of the drawers. "Twice." It's already late, and he knows he doesn't have time to walk to his quarters and back without making everyone wait. It's also happened enough times in the past for him to have a stash of spare clothes always on hand.

He gets out of his jacket as fast as his new arm allows, then hangs it on a metal hook by the door. It needs to be washed, and he has a fresh and ironed one in his closet. 

Matt says, "Except for one thing."

"But do I want to know it?" His undershirt is warm, and Shiro is always cold ever since coming back from the dead, so he keeps it under the Garrison sweatshirt he hastily pulls on. 

Seeing that Shiro is done changing, Matt makes a move for the door. "Probably not, because you're determined like that." Shiro casts one last glance at the state of his office—clean, all empty mugs taken back to the mess hall, paperwork in tidy stacks on the table—before switching off the lights. Matt is paused in the doorway. "But just a suggestion: you should see how he looks at you."

 _Because you're not the only one waiting_ , he kindly doesn't say.

 

-

 

The movie they pick is an old one, made long before their time—Shiro distinctly remembers his late grandpa talking about it. It’s full of action and loud explosions and unrealistic car chases, but it’s entertaining. Even more so once Pidge starts her usual commentary on all things inaccurate and Coran joins in to compare those to all things Altean.

"Hell yeah!" Lance exclaims from the mountain of pillows on the floor. He was the one to suggest this flick, and it's easy to see why once the suave, stereotypically badass hero meets his gorgeous love interest. "Kick that bastard's ass, baby!"

Allura seems fascinated, and only a little sceptical.

There's a mountain of popcorn on the low coffee table, and Hunk and Matt are devouring the last of the pizza. It's not quite the same as it used to be, back when Earth still had fast food and take out restaurants, but Hunk's a food genius and they've all missed the feel of getting stuffed with junk food as much as they missed the taste of it.

Shiro feels warm and cozy and at peace.

Beside him, Keith snorts quietly at the sword fight happening on the screen. It's about as ridiculous and pompous as they come, and Shiro hides his own amusement. Mostly at Keith. He can be downright adorable about certain things.

He also smells really, really nice. Like he's taken a shower just before coming here. But underneath, there's that addicting smell of smoke and desert, of Keith.

Shiro can tell because they're sitting right next to each other, taking up one entire couch in a half-circle of them. Something they've done wordlessly ever since these hang-out nights started. No one ever said anything about it, or even raised an eyebrow.

Maybe because Keith and he have always been close, or because those who know Keith intimately know how much physical touch matters to him. Way more than words ever will.

It's why Shiro feels brave enough to move just a little closer, until their bodies are pressed together in a line that could be crossed so terrifyingly easily.

Keith never seems to mind.

Makes it downright impossible for Shiro not to lean on him, to press his head against Keith's shoulder and bury his face in the soft black sleeve of his oversized hoodie. To leech off that warmth that always seems to radiate off Keith, as if his blood runs just a little hotter than everyone else's.

Keith doesn't seem to mind that either.

It's hard to see in the darkness, but Shiro thinks Keith is smiling. Even if he isn't quite looking at Shiro, eyes glued deliberately to yet another explosion erupting on the screen. Not even as he shifts a little, turns so that Shiro can lie more on his chest than his arm, where it's infinitely more comfortable. Feeling his own lopsided but grateful grin, Shiro lays down his head.

And hears Keith's heart thud loudly in his ear. Fast, so fast.

It's a nice sound.

Somehow especially so amidst the quiet chatter of their friends, their family.

Everywhere else, the ship is quiet. Slumbering. Illuminated only by the dim hallway lights, because everyone knows the Voltron crew will be here, aboard the docked ship, huddled in the lounge that was modelled after the one they had before, down to the white leather sofas and the pristine empty walls. With a few modifications like the overhead projector and the built-in coffee machine. 

_It's home,_ Shiro thinks sleepily.

 

-

 

"—sure doesn’t look like nothing to me."

" _—idge._ "

Awareness comes slowly. Like not being ready to face a winter-cold world from beneath a heavy blanket that's comfy and nice. Perfect.

But there are voices, somewhere above. Hushed. Familiar.

Important. 

So he listens.

"What? Even your thick head can't deny this qualifies as _cuddling_. The non-platonic kind."

There's a sigh, heavy but quiet, and Shiro, inexplicably, feels it underneath his own head. That raise and fall. "He's just tired."

"Clearly, I was wrong."

He can hear the exasperation of the second voice, and it's familiar too, because he's been on the receiving end of it. Even if his hazy mind doesn't quite have the energy to focus on that information.

"I'm not in denial," Keith insists. And Shiro _knows_ it's Keith, because their arms are wrapped tight around each other. As if both are afraid to let go. To watch again and again as one of them disappears. "It's not like that, okay?"

 _It's safe_ , he thinks. In this cocoon. With Keith by his side.

"And you're not in love with him?"

Until it breaks.

And Keith says nothing.

Shiro's eyes snap open.

It's disorienting, at first. The room is shrouded in darkness, the TV off. The rest of the team gone. There's only him and Keith and Pidge—who stands up to leave quietly, without unnecessary excuses. Shiro wouldn't hear them anyway.

He's looking only at Keith. At his wide-open eyes. Looking right back at Shiro, lips parted on an inhale.

_Beautiful, so beautiful._

"You said I'm your brother." 

That's the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

"I said I love you. You knew what I meant." It's steady, it's grounding. It's brave. "You had to."

And maybe it is time for Shiro to be brave too.

 

-

 

The concept of Sunday mornings has long become foreign to Shiro, even before his admiralty. Just last night, before the movies, he made plans to wake up early and catch up on work he didn't finish.

But last night, he didn't have Keith naked in his bed, sleep-warm and soft. Hair like a halo on their shared pillow. Scrunching his face against the sunshine spilling from the window.

And Shiro, turns out, isn't strong enough to even move, let alone leave.

His lips are still stinging from the kisses. 

It's just a little unreal.

On the bedside table, his tablet lights up with a new message. Blindly, Shiro reaches for it.

_ > FINALLY _

Is all the message from Matt says. Underneath it, timestamped a few hours earlier, is more:

 _ > Thank you, for making me so much richer._ Followed by a scarily accurate eye-flashing caricature of Pidge.

_ > I'll be expecting the two of you soon_

_ > And don't forget to tell me Keith's favourite foods_

When Keith wakes up just a moment later, Shiro is still smiling. 

He leans down to kiss the confusion right off his lips. "Good morning. How do you feel about dinner with the Holts sometime next week?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always, always appreciated! And I can be also found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kirinokisu), usually screaming and crying about sheith.


End file.
